Poor Timing
by tutus portus
Summary: Don sits at his brother's bedside in the hospital, and contemplates their relationship. Oneshot.


**Poor Timing**

by tutus portus

_This work of fan fiction regarding the CBS television series "Numb3rs" contains the usual disclaimers and is not written for profit._

**.............................................................................**

Don's step echoed a quiet beat on the bright linoleum as he quickly approached Room 642. He paused in front of the nearly closed door long enough to check his watch, then pasted a smile on his face and pushed his way in. "Hey, Buddy," he greeted when he saw that his brother was awake. His grin became more natural. "We have to have a serious talk about your sense of timing."

Charlie shifted uncomfortably in the bed and rolled his eyes. One hand scrabbled with the remote control and the head of his hospital bed began to raise. "Tell me about it," he muttered miserably. "My timing has sucked all year." He let the bed take him to almost a 40-degree angle before he fumbled with the remote again to stop the upward movement.

Don looked around the room, didn't see a chair, and arched an eyebrow as he strolled to the side of the bed. "Ordinarily I'd be inclined to agree with you," he teased, "but I never hit a man when he's down. I think that's kind-of an extreme view you're taking, there."

Charlie considered, shifting again, grimacing slightly before he sighed heavily and let his head drop listlessly back onto the pillow. "At least since the Radovic case," he finally amended. "I managed to almost get you killed during that one." He indicated a small closet near the sink with his eyes. "There are some folding chairs in there."

"Thanks," Don murmured, moving to the closet. "Shouldn't you at least have one of those righteous overstuffed hospital chairs in here?" He opened the closet, grabbed a metal chair, and turned back toward the bed. "And that wasn't your fault," he added sternly. "LAPD intel said it was home invasion." He flipped open the chair and settled beside his brother. "Do we have to go over all this again, before you have another Robert Podsner moment?"

Charlie blinked lethargically, moving his head to glance around the room and frowning. Don noted the glistening beads of sweat beneath his curls when he did. "I don't know why I don't have one of those chairs. The bill better reflect that." He tried to give Don a challenging and sarcastic glare – but his position in the hospital bed made it one of his more pathetic attempts. "Are you saying you're not happy to have a serial killer off the streets?"

Don echoed his brother's sigh. "Of course I am!" He paused, finally deciding to let the argument go and respond to his brother's body language. "You doing okay, Charlie?"

Charlie didn't answer the question right away, instead reverting to his list of sins. "Then I almost blew my own proposal -- after waiting all these years! I should have given Amita a little time to find her equilibrium again after..." -- an obvious distaste inflected his voice -- "Duryea." He cleared his throat, as if saying the name was being physically rejected by his body. He sighed and shifted again. "I can't seem to get comfortable."

Don smiled again, tenderly this time. "You're in a hospital, dude. I don't think you're supposed to be comfortable." He leaned forward a little in his chair. "And she said 'yes', didn't she? Don't analyze yourself into a corner."

Charlie grunted. He gestured casually at the hospital bed and the room around him. "What about this?" he challenged. "Not only is Dad on a fishing trip with Stan, both Amita and Larry are at an astrophysics conference at BU. The hospital had to bother you at work."

Don feigned ignorance. "I thought the conference was in Boston," he noted mildly. "Larry and Amita went to Texas in this heat?" He placed one hand briefly on Charlie's forearm, inwardly cringing at the heat he felt there. "I'm sorry I was out in the field," he said sincerely. "I came as soon as I got the message."

Charlie looked at him, confusion apparent on his face. "Boston University," he explained, as if to a child. His brow furrowed. "There's a BU in Texas?" He yawned. "Don't worry about it; I'm just sorry to mess up your day."

"Baylor," Don answered smugly, sitting back in his chair, which wobbled a little and concerned him for a moment. "It's a Christian school. One of the top 100 baseball teams in 2008," Charlie's eyes were closed, and he wondered if his brother had fallen asleep. Just in case, he lowered his voice. "You're not a bother, Buddy, and you could never mess up my day."

Turned out Charlie wasn't quite asleep yet, although his eyes remained closed. "Aren't we Jewish?" he mumbled. "Does your Rabbi know about this?" Don smiled, reached over the bed railing and picked up the remote control. He started to lower the head of the bed into what he deemed was a more restful position. "Thanks," Charlie murmured sleepily.

Don understood that Charlie was thanking him for what he had said as much as he was thanking him for lowering the bed, and he shook his head fondly. Only Chuck. Only his little brother could develop an acute systemic infection and require emergency surgical treatment in an ER bay for an ingrown toenail. Truly, only Little Chuckster would limp around the house for the better part of a week, ignoring that infection, until he passed out and tumbled halfway down the basement stairs, both fracturing the ankle of his "good" foot, and sustaining a slight concussion. Thank God it was the day for the cleaning lady's visit, and he had only been there, jammed between the washer and dryer, for a few hours. It still made Don shudder to think about what could have happened, what had almost happened, what must never happen.

Charlie began snoring softly and Don studied the impossibly young-looking face, and remembered every moment of their lives together. Some of the memories were painful; embarrassing, now. They had been fools to let life put a wedge between them for so many years, to drift apart. Don mourned the time they had lost, but it made him determined that they lose no more. He had meant every word he had said last year to Peter Lange, the reporter from _Vanity Fair_. Charlie was his friend, and the only thing stronger than the bond between brothers was the bond between brothers who have become friends; despite their differences, despite their past, despite themselves and each other.

Charlie was his friend, and as Don watched him sleep, he understood that Charlie was his family as well. His pain-in-the-butt little brother had somehow become as necessary to Don as air.

And he was perfectly okay with that.

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End file.
